Spirit Made Flesh
by D.J. Clarke
Summary: In the year of 1842, a precious cargo from a long dead world, is delivered to a Sioux hunter in Iowa Territory changing history. Amazing discoveries are made, godlike people are discovered, and unknowingly the world moves towards a titanic clash of ideals, politics and dreams that could bring an age of enlightenment or death.
1. Fire From The Sky

**1842, Space, Outer Sol System **

A small object moved through the emptiness of space. No lights showed on the hull, no radio signals or energy sources revealed its presence, it was a hole in the void it moved through. If someone had been looking in just the right place with the greatest telescopes and sensors ever made, they may have seen a black speck moving at impossible speeds. But where the object was going no one was looking for it, not that it would have mattered. Even if they had known exactly where to look and the exact second the object would appear, their simple telescopes of distorted glass and metal wouldn't reveal anything. The simplest device on the object was 20,000 years beyond the most advanced technology the small blue planet possessed.

As the object came closer to its destination for the first time in a millennia its ancient technology began to hum with power and purpose.

**Iowa Territory, near the Mississippi River**

The deer stopped suddenly, looking around its nostrils flared as it smelled the wind searching for the noise that had disturbed it. A sudden movement caused the animal to leap forward attempting to escape the hunter that had finally revealed himself. The arrow caught it just behind the shoulder. It ran through the bushes blinded by the pain, instincts insisting that if it ran fast enough and far enough the pain would end, and it would survive.

The deer was dead before it had run a hundred feet

Falcon patiently waited to be certain the deer was dead before he followed it. The deer would be enough for his family until the Indian Agents came with the promised food and money. He snorted in disgust, the last bags of flours had been thick with bugs. It had taken days to sift them out, and the bread his wife made with it, had still been speckled with black. The younger men had talked of violence, but the thought of attacking the soldiers was too much for most of them, and they had quieted down after stern words from the Sioux elders.

Enough time had passed, Falcon drew his knife and walked towards the fallen deer.

**Space, Near Earth Orbit**

The object scanned the small planet. It had approached the planet from the sun, hiding the magnificent display of light that would have revealed it to even the most primitive tools as it slowed from near light speeds.

Its creators had planned for the object to reach a planet that would most likely be at the beginning stages of scientific advances. Allowing the precious cargo to secretly assimilate into the new planet, but not suffer from the plagues and destitution that pre-science societies would consider common. There had been a mistake.

The planet radiated no radio waves, no artificial lights could be detected by the object. There appeared to be several large towns on the surface, and some areas of the continents had obviously been changed by sentient actions, but the planet was primitive.

The object reviewed its database, and came to a decision. Several pebble sized objects extruded from the hull and flew down to the planet.

**New York City, U.S.A.**

A young boy, no more then six years old, sat in an alleyway peering carefully at a muddy newspaper spread out on his lap. Slowly he moved his mouth trying to sound out the unfamiliar words, his finger tracing the word as he wracked his brains to make sense of the unfamiliar symbols. He didn't hear the footsteps until it was too late. A large hand grabbed his red hair and savagely pulled him into the air. The boy flailed in air trying to grab his assailant or get his feet onto something, he felt his thick red hair being pulled out of his scalp. Tears poured from his eyes as he screamed in pain.

Finally the pain stopped as he was thrown into a wall. A voice the boy knew all too well said, "Al what are you trying to do?"

Lex, for thats what he called himself away from his family, spit the blood out of his mouth and glared at the teenager standing over him.

"Reading, Edward" he said.

Edward laughed, and kicked Lex in the stomach making the young boy cry in pain. "Think ya better than me, huh, boy. Pretending ya can read. Trying to act like some lawyer? Maybe ya wanna be the mayor. Always trying to read, ain't no one can read here. Remember that. You was born in the mud, and ya gonna stay in the mud." Edward grabbed Lex by the hair again, "As your brother I'm trying to help ya. Stop pretending to read and start working. Ya ain't gonna get anywhere reading papers that the rich folk have thrown away. I don't read, Pa don't read, Ma never read, and we are doing fine. We always got just enough to eat, some extra money for tobacco, and a bit of fun, but if you keep trying to read the Times, well you'll never amount to anything," he cuffed Lex once more to make sure his words sunk in.

Lex cried to himself clutching his stomach, and waited for his brother to leave. Then he crawled back to the newspaper. 'Stupid bastard,' Lex thought to himself. He'd already read the Times earlier, he was teaching himself French with a paper from Paris.

**Space, Near Earth Orbit**

The object retrieved all of its small probes after 24 hours. If the object could have been troubled it would have been. The planet was primitive, and violent. But it appeared to be on the verge of becoming a scientific civilization. It had to make a decision. Should it release its precious cargo on this world, risking the primitive conditions or should it search for a new planet?

The object spent several seconds running a diagnostic of itself, and processing several thousand calculations. If it continued its search there was a 23.234% chance it would suffer a serious malfunction. There was also a 76.123% chance that the next planet would be unsuitable for the cargo.

This planet was the best planet available. Its research showed that the civilization on the Northern center of the medium size continent would be ideal. It was almost as advanced as the civilizations on the subcontinent on the largest continent, but its people appeared healthier, especially near the edges, away from the cesspools that formed the major towns. The cargo would also be most easily accepted into society from the edges of the civilization. The primitive hand written documents would not allow formal record keeping, and their appeared to be a smaller chance of suffering ailments from the lack of hygiene found in the major towns along the coast.

It began to genetically modify the cargo to better fit the species of the planet.

**Iowa** **Territory**

Falcon carried the deer draped over his shoulders. It was heavy, but he carried it easily. He sang a song thanking the deer for letting him kill it. Smiling he thought about how in a few hours he would be home in the arms of his grateful wife and children.

Fire flashed through the sky heading towards him. Falcon stared at it dumbly for several seconds. He had never seen anything like it. It wasn't lightening, although he could hear the thunder coming from it, but it moved straight at him, like a bird attacking a rabbit. He dropped the deer and fled into the bush.

Falcon stood up and rubbed his aching head. He didn't know how he had fallen. Dazed he looked around wondering what had happened. Slowly he remembered fleeing a bright light, but he couldn't remember anything after that. His head hurt and his ears rang.

A baby cried out. Falcon was instantly on his feet searching for the baby. He knew deep in his heart that he must protect the baby. The baby was just a few feet away resting beside the deer. It was wrapped in a shiny cloth that Falcon had never seen before. Around its neck was a medallion with a strange symbol on it.

Gingerly Falcon touched the medallion. It was warm despite the cool air. It didn't look like any metal he had ever seen. It was too shiny, and it had strange grains in it. From one angle it looked silvery laced with gold, but from another angle it was more like copper and granite. The symbol on it was also strange, it made his eyes water to look at it. It was on the inside of the metal. It was like the metal itself was glass with the symbol in the centre of it, but the symbol also looked like it was on the surface of the metal and the metal was opaque. Shaking his head Falcon stopped looking at it, and picked the baby up.

As his hands touched the cloth that the baby was wrapped in he wondered what it was. It was soft and light. It was better than any cotton or wool. Even the fancy jackets of the Indian Agents didn't feel like the cloth around the baby.

Looking down at the black haired child who was now sleeping soundly in his arms, Falcon whispered, "Why did the spirits send you to me fire child?" Carefully he tied the cloth holding the child into a sling around his neck. Then sure that the child would be safe he struggled to put the deer over his shoulder without disturbing the child. Awkwardly he walked home wondering what the spirits intended, and what his wife and children would say.

**Space, Near Earth Orbit**

The object had completed its mission and devoid of an objective, it reduced its power source and shut down its systems. Some small part of its programming remained active however. A glitch in the software allowed a minor observation program to continue its observations of the planet and the solar system even as the object moved away to be lost in the vastness of the solar system.

As the object moved away from the planet, several large asteroids headed towards blue world. They had been caught by the objects energy and followed it in the millennia long journey. Several weeks later sky gazers were amazed by the brilliant green flecked meteor shower that covered the sky all across the Northern hemisphere.


	2. Bad Beginnings

**July, 1843, Ruperts' Land, Hudson Bay Territory, Great Slave Lake **

Bruce rested against his mothers side, enjoying the songs of the voyageurs and the fragrant smell of the wood smoke. They had walked for much of the day between portages, and even though he'd had nothing to carry he was tired. His father believed that his only son should begin to learn the family trade. Thomas Wayne had made his fortune as a fur trader and risen to Governer in Chief of the Hudson Bay Company after George Simpson had died two years previously. His wife was the daughter of an allied Cree Chief, they both expected great things of their only son. Already the boy was learning to negotiate with the best traders in the company, had mastered French used by the Metis who were the majority of the voyageurs, his mothers Cree, and Latin, and could add up the price of a hundred beaver pelts faster than most. Now he would see how his father treated employees who were stealing the company blind in their Western trading posts.

His mother, christened Martha Wayne after her wedding day, wrapped her arm around him protectively, stroking his black hair. In another year or so they would be sending the boy to a boarding school in England for a few years. Thomas had said it was essential that Bruce meet the movers and shakers in Britain if he was to be successful. She had agreed but was intent on spending as much time with her son as she could since then. At first Thomas had tried to keep her from accompanying them, but she had insisted, and since she knew as much about the woods as most men, he had finally given in.

The voyageurs were men loyal to Wayne, they had followed his orders since they entered the company, all of them had traded under him personally, and they all knew he gave them a fair share of the profits. Where most voyageurs worked for 10 years and ended up owing the company 11 years worth of wages due to having to buy all supplies from the companies, these men had actually begun to make a small profit once Wayne took over control of the trade.

Thomas Wayne leaned against a tree with his arms folded and sang with the other voyageurs. He had spent years singing the same songs as he paddled through the northern rapids. Those had been hard, but happy times. They had also been profitable. By the time he was thirty he was able to buy stocks in the company, and set himself up as an investor. He could have moved to Montreal and become one of the wealthy owners who relived their glory days while attending parties, by riding barrels of whiskey while too drunk to stand, but that life never appealed to him. He had had the chance to live the peaceful life by staying in New England, but the challenge of the northern forests had called to him. So as a boy of fourteen he had broken his parents hearts and run off to trade furs. Once he had made his fortune he had tried to get back in touch with them, but his parents had closed the door on the black sheep of the family. Thus he decided to close the door on most of the civilized world. Thomas had positioned himself as the head of the Companies trading posts, just beating Simpson for the post. His future was now secure, and with just a bit more work so was his sons'.

As the small band sat singing around the fire and thinking about sleep, the night air was shattered by explosions. From the darkness guns fired at the group, dropping most of them before they could react. The fallen men screamed in pain as their bones shattered from bullets and the hot pieces of lead destroyed their organs. Those that could tried to reach their own guns and knives, but the attackers were already on them cutting at them with knives and hatchets. Against the tired and stunned defenders, it was a massacre.

Martha didn't see the attackers as they leaped out of the darkness. She cradled her son, who was motionless beside her, blood poured from his scalp. She couldn't see how bad the wound was, she knew he still breathed, but nothing else. She cried out wordlessly for her son to open his eyes again. The sound of cracking twigs behind her, snapped her back to reality. Turning her head she saw a stranger coming towards her with a knife. Her hand, almost of its on volition reached for her own knife. With a scream she leaped at him.

The dark haired Meti raced through the woods, his long fringed leather coat flapping behind him, hoping he wasn't too late. He had been sent ahead to the nearest outpost to make sure everything was prepared for Mr. Wayne. Before he'd arrived a man loyal to Thomas had met him, warning about an attack from the thieves that Mr. Wayne was suppose to find. Alfred had returned to his canoe and headed back to find his friend and employer.

Even in the dark forest he traveled quickly and easily, his eyes accustomed to the darkness. Ahead of him a faint glow appeared through the branches. Slowing he listened for any sounds of life, his heart sank as the silence of the night continued. No noise of sleeping men rose from the camp, no snores, farts, or yawns. Silently Alfred moved closer to the camp. He knew what he would find, but pleaded to God that he was wrong. He took his bow out and nocked an arrow, he had left his gun hidden with his canoe, it would have been too awkward to run with.  
The smell of blood and shit rose from the bodies. Tears ran down Alfreds dark face as his worst fears were confirmed. Bending down he checked the nearest body, feeling the cold skin and the sticky blood. He guessed they had been dead for an hour, maybe two. He searched for his friend and his family.

He found Thomas first, he was leaning against a tree, a bullet in his chest, his dead face had a look of astonishment on it. Turning his head away in pain he saw Martha she was lying on her front. Gently he rolled her over. Her stroud cloth travelling dress was covered in blood and half torn away. His fingers traced out at least a dozen stab wounds on her body and face. He covered her body with his coat.

Were was there son? Where was Bruce?

Carefully Alfred searched the campsite looking for the boy. None of the bodies were his, but something had crawled away from the campsite, looking at the broken plants it looked like something small. Alfred felt a small glimmer of hope. " Bruce," he called. "It's Alfred. Can you hear me?" he asked in accented English.

A small whimper came from the bushes. "Bruce can you come out. I'm here, I will keep you safe." He waited, for several minutes, the noise from the bushes continued, and seemed to be coming closer, slowly and hesitantly, but they were moving. Finally a small figure crawled out of the plants.

The boy looked up, blood, tree sap, dirt, and other things covered his clothes and face. "Alfred?" the young boy looked up at the Indian as if not believing his eyes. The Indian who had worked with his father for years and taught the boy so much nodded his head and bent to hold the last link to his dear friend. The boy and the man both cried out their grief to the cold night sky.

**One Week Later**

Alfred stood in front of the trading post, Bruce sat beside him a bandage still wrapped around his head. nine men were in front of them, with there hands tied behind their backs, one of them the former Chief Trader of the trading post. They had been declared murderers and thieves, and they were about to be executed.

They had planned on killing the entire party, and blaming the murders on some minor traders they disliked. The fake evidence had been prepared, and it could have worked. The ring leader had been the official in charge of the trading post. If everyone in the party had died he would have been in charge of the investigation unless they wanted to wait several more months for a higher up to come from Yellow Factory beside Hudson Bay. But they hadn't gotten Alfred. He had returned to the outpost with Bruce, but before he entered he'd found the person who had warned him and gotten all the loyal men at the outpost. Within the hour he had a list of names, and he and the loyalists arrested all the murderers. As Mr. Waynes second in command he had the authority to arrest, question, and search the men and their quarters. Even if he hadn't it wouldn't have stopped him. When he had enough information he ordered them executed. The British would complain but there was enough evidence to convict each man, and the Company leaders couldn't let their officials be murdered, they'd support the executions.

Alfred turned to Bruce, "Remember this Bruce. Your parents died because the laws were not followed. If these thieves had not stolen they would not have murdered your parents. They knew the law, do not steal and they broke it. They stole because they wanted money, they wanted power, they wanted what they would not work for. To keep it they decided to murder. They were cowardly and weak. In this land there is law, but it is hard to follow it. Too many people will ignore it for their own gain. When you see crime you must end it. So watch closely, we are ending the crimes of these men, and their example will keep others from breaking them."

Bruce looked up at his friend. "Will it really?" he asked.

Alfred's hand gripped his small silver cross hanging from his neck and nodded his head, "If good men try their hardest to stop criminals like these, God in his mercy will help us."

They looked up as the executioners raised their guns and fired, killing the criminals. Three of them still lived screaming in pain, the voyageurs walked over to them and slit their throats.  
The boy watched it all, refusing to close his eyes or to turn away. "I will stop this," he whispered to himself.

**September, 1843, Red Creek, Georgia, USA**

Rodney St. John rode his horse through the small town, his house slave rode on a mule behind him. As he passed people politely nodded their heads and bid him good day. He was the richest person in the county, and his family was one of the oldest, and he ensured everyone remembered it. He had personally ensured that every elected official in the area was in his pocket, and even the congressman owed him several large favours. Life was good.

A commotion up the street attracted his attention. He stood up in the saddle and saw a wagon covered in bars with someone inside it. Looking at his pocket watch he saw that he still had 15 minutes before an appointment with the bank. Curious he rode into the crowd, his slave obediently followed him. Rodney pushed through the crowd until he could hear over the murmuring crowd. A fat, dirty man was hollering, "-I swear to you fine folks, I found this freak of nature, this fish boy on the coast not two years ago. He was as naked as he is now, and doesn't even know how to put on a shirt."

Rodney looked into the caged wagon, a naked seven or eight year old boy was in it. Wild blue eyes stared angrily at the crowd from under long and dirty blond hair. Strangely the boy was sitting on the edge of a large barrel of water with a small glass window on the side.

"Now," the fat man continued, "You're probably wondering why I call this freak 'fish boy'? Well to my astonishment and soon to yours this boy can breath underwater. I know its hard to believe, but its true." He turned to face the wagon and shouted, "Freak! Get in the water."

The boy dropped into the water with barely a ripple, his face appeared in the little window. People watched in mild interest. Rodney expected the boy to stay under for a few moments, maybe three minutes before coming up gasping, these little side shows were popular for the common people, but they were always so simple. He looked at his watch wanting, out of mild curiosity, to see just how long the boy could hold his breath. At two minutes he looked at the boy expecting to see a look of discomfort, but through the small glass the boy looked quite comfortable. At three minutes he expected the boy to come up for air, but the boy stayed down. At four minutes people stopped talking and stared in amazement. After five minutes the boy raised a hand and waved to the crowd.

"Now do you believe me that the boy is a freak?" the fat man asked. "For a few coins I will show you what else this freak of nature can do." A young man who looked like a smaller version of the fat man walked around the audience holding a small pot for people to toss coins into. After the coins stopped coming in the young man walked back to another wagon beside the cage. All that time the fish boy stayed under the water.

"Thank you for your generosity. Now this freak, this monster cannot only breathe water, he is as strong as ox," with that the fat man walked over to the cage and using a club hit the wood of the barrel. The boy leaped out of the water like a fish, landing on all fours in the middle of the cage facing away from the audience. Rodney had time to notice several large scars on the boys back before the boy turned around to face them. "As you good people can see there are several metal bars in the cage. The freak is so strong he can bend them easily. And to prove they aren't fake after he has bent them any man amongst you can try to unbend them afterwards."

Rodney watched in awe as the mans words proved true. The boy was supernaturally strong. For the next half hour the boy performed many different feats of strength, agility, and wonder.  
Rodney's slave was sent to the bank to inform the banker that the meeting was cancelled for today, and sent home to get four strong men.

At the end of the show Rodney went over to the fat man. The fat man seeing Rodney's fine horse and clothes hastily took off his hat and bobbed his head. "How can I be of service to you fine sir," he asked, his eyes seemed to gleam with the possibility of getting the patronage of a rich gentlemen.

"This boy you have is he your child?" Rodney asked.

"No sir. Every word I spoke today was true. I found this freak not two years ago on the coast of Florida, washed up after a storm. He seemed to have trouble breathing and I could not find his parents as we were hundreds of miles from the nearest town."

"He had trouble breathing? But he seems healthy," Rodney replied.

"Well sir, at first he did," he said clenching his hat. "That's how I discovered he could breathe water, he stuck his head in my boats water barrel. At first I thought he was mad, but he grew stronger by doing it. Of course I put a stop to it before too long, and after a few days he could breathe normally."

"Does he talk?" Rodney asked.

"He talks a little, but at first he only babbled in some strange language. Nothing I ever heard, I got him to stop, but it wasn't easy sir. I had to beat him half to death every time he didn't speak good English."

"He's so strong how could you beat him?"

"Well sir, you see its like this. At first he was weak as a kitten. So I took him around and just did the show with the water breathing. But the more he was in the water the stronger he got." A smile came to his face, "Fortunately by that time I had any rebellion beaten out of him. Now he does anything I say no matter how strong he is."  
Rodney nodded, "I see. Tell me did you ever legally adopt this boy?"

The fat man looked at him in shock, "No sir. Why should I need to?"

"So you are keeping a White boy you found, as a slave?" Rodney asked politely.

The fat man's face went red, "He ain't no American, not even human. You saw what he can do. He's an animal made human, he doesn't have any rights."

Rodney smiled coldly, "He appears to be a White person. As a White person in the United States he is entitled to certain rights. Now I'm a fair man, I'll pay you 300 dollars for him, a fair price. You will say yes, or I will have the police, the mayor, and several other important people here within the hour to side with me. The only reason I'm willing to pay you this is to save myself some time. Do you agree?"

The fat man tried to protest, but Rodney ignored him. In another town the man might have a case, unfortunately for the fat man, this was Rodneys' town. Eventually the fat man agreed to sell the boy for 300 dollars.

By the time the negotiating was done his house slave had returned with four farm hands and a wagon. The boy didn't fight as they put him in the wagon. Rodney supervised as necessary, and began to think of all the things he could do with this aquaboy.

***  
**Christmas Day, December 1843, Lewis Plantation, Louisiana**

It took five men to hold the battered and naked fourteen year old slave down. He'd tried to run away again earlier in the day and actually made it about 10 miles before the dogs treed him. With his size and strength the slave was too valuable to shoot, but they'd cut the tree down with him in it and put the boots to him. Even after a severe beating the boy refused to submit. His eyes kept turning to the roaring fire where his owner was heating a metal rod.

Finally his master was ready, the man walked over smiling holding a thick glowing branding iron. In a friendly voice the man spoke, "John, you've caused me a right bit of trouble. I would love to cut your balls off right now, like I would a stallion that refused to break, but I can breed a lot of good stock out of you. So I'm hoping this will teach you a lesson."

One of the men holding John grabbed his head and held it tight, whispering, "If you move your head too much he might get your eye."

John stopped moving, the fear of losing his eyes overpowered his fear of the pain. He breathed rapidly in fear, his breath forming tiny clouds that mixed with the darker smoke coming from the branding iron. The iron hissed as soon as it touched his skin. His master wasn't gentle, pushing the searing metal tightly against Johns cheek. The slave shook in pain, with hatred in his eyes he swore he wouldn't scream. Blood ran into his throat as he bit his tongue holding back his yells.

Finally the branding iron was taken away and the men released John. He curled into a ball, quietly crying in pain and clutched his maimed faced.  
As he laid there, his master and the other men waited until he stopped sobbing. They wanted him to feel what was about to happen. Finally the master nodded. They each grabbed a hot metal rod from the fire, circled the boy once more and began to beat him. The screams could be heard for miles.

Two days later John woke up. His body was burned, bruised, and torn, but nothing was broken, his master was good at his work. The boys hand gingerly reached up to his cheek. He traced out the hourglass brand that was his masters symbol. Silently he swore one day he would rip out his masters eyes.


	3. Boys Will Be Boys

**April 5, 1845, New York, New York, USA**

Lex scratched his head trying to ignore the itching. His entire building was infested with lice, and his thick red hair was a perfect home for the bugs. Taking a deep breath he tried to concentrate, if this worked he'd be free of them by tomorrow.

Edward his older brother rubbed the patchy hair on his chin that he was vainly calling a beard. "So Al, what have ya got for me?" he asked.

Lex fought to keep the grimace from his face, he hated being called 'Al'. "I made you a smoke bomb," he said, holding a liquor full of something dark and foul looking out. "When you break it, it will cause a large smoke cloud that will make it impossible to see through, and make anyone who breathes it cough up their lungs."

Edward grabbed the bottle eagerly. "Really, it'll work?"

Lex pointed to the back wall of the empty alley, "Try it out. I made two of them."

Edward smiling like a little boy at Christmas, flung the bottle against the stained brick wall. The moment the bottle shattered a thick, oily looking black smoke rose up. Within seconds the smoke was rising to the top of the buildings, and was quickly coming towards them. The boys ran out of the alley just ahead of the smoke and quickly lost themselves amongst the throng of people who were rushing to see what was happening.

They finally stopped running when they were several blocks away from the commotion. "Your other bottle will do that exact same thing?" Edward asked.

"Yes. When you rob the store just throw it as your running out and no one will notice you or be able to follow you," Lex replied with a smile. "Just remember I want a part of it, Edward."

Edward cuffed Lex on the back of the head. "I keep telling ya to call me Ed. And you'll get your share," he said. "Why do ya always talk so strange anyways? Ya should speak more like me and everyone else."

Lex shook his head and walked away to get the other bottle from its hiding place.

The next evening Edward wore his best clothes and walked towards a good quality liquor store far from his usual haunts. Under his arm was a well polished wine bottle. He looked nervous as he stood outside the brick building, even in his good clothes he looked shabby. It didn't matter on the street so much, but when he walked into the store they would know he didn't belong. Taking an obvious deep breathe he entered the store.

Lex watched his brother enter the store from across the street. He was dressed in his usual badly patched pants, and stained shirt, looking like any of the thousands of poor children that wandered the streets of New York. He leaned against a bag full of old rags, as if taking a break from his work, he carefully did not look at the sign of the store behind him, "Phil's Registered Pharmaceuticals".

Silently he counted. When he reached one hundred he guessed that Edward would be pulling out his rusty gun. A discreet glance through the crowd showed a blurry image of a man holding up his hands. Lex continued to count. When he reached four hundred and sixty, he stood up and picked up his bag. At five hundred and twenty five the door opened up and Edward ran out holding a full bag. Lex ducked behind his bag and closed his eyes. At five hundred and thirty Edward tossed the bottle. At five hundred and thirty-one, all hell broke loose.

The bottle exploded before it hit the ground. The fluid in it were not suppose to be shaken hard, Lex had discovered it in one of his earlier experiments. The 1.23 litre bottle was filled to just below the wax cover. Lex had almost blown off his small hand with just 50 millilitres of it.

The front of the store disappeared in a black cloud of smoke and debris. Edward Luthor was closest to the explosion and flew through the air like a rag doll. An expression of horror filled his face before he mercifully fell unconscious upon hitting the ground with a horrifying crunch. People a little further away were thrown to the ground breaking arms, legs, and the occasional neck. The store owner was protected by his thick wooden counter and escaped the brunt of the explosion, the shattering of the bottles all around him left him scarred for life. All along the street windows shattered or cracked from the explosion, and pieces of wood and bricks impaled themselves against walls, wagons, and people.

Lex fell over from the force of the blast, but the bag and its rags protected him. He watched as the people in the pharmacy ran out into the street to see what had happened and help the wounded. Under the cover of dust that filled the air, Lex ran into the store, he emptied the bag of rags and methodically grabbed the necessary medicines and chemicals from the shelves. In just over a minute he had as much as he could carry. On his way out he grabbed a big book on chemicals.

In the chaos he was able to return home with little trouble.

A few weeks later he learned that Edward had survived, but was horribly maimed. There were rumours he had tried to blame it on his little brother, but no one believed that an eight year old boy could make a bomb that had confounded scientists.

After that Lex ignored the rumours and continued his experiments, his first bomb obviously hadn't been powerful enough.

**November 15th, 1845**

Falcon and his son Joseph dressed hurriedly, carelessly throwing on his thick leather and fur coat and leggings. He and his wife Emily had woken up to find Fire From the Sky wasn't in his bed. Emily and the girls were searching the small house, hoping that Fire was merely hiding. The winter had come hard and quick that year, and already the snow was a foot thick, and it was cold enough to freeze anyone foolish enough to wander outside without furs.

Bracing themselves against the wind that blew the snow straight into their faces, the two men walked into the snow calling out for the lost boy, praying that the special child hadn't gone far or been out long.

When he had returned home with the boy three years before, no one had believed his story at first. A boy from the sky? It was too hard to believe. But the metal and the clothe had made them curious. The Elders had examined the boy and the objects closely. Falcon had felt strangely protective of the child as the Elders did many things to him. Finally the Elders said they believed the boy was special and it was obvious that the spirits had sent him to Falcon to raise and protect. They had ordered every man and woman of the tribe to ensure the boy was kept safe and secure until the boys future role could be discovered.

From that day on whenever Falcon left his home his friends and neighbours asked how the boy was doing. They tried to teach the boy whatever they knew, even before the boy could speak. They made him special gifts of toy guns, good luck charms and many other things to help him prepare for him for whatever greatness was planned for him. The good luck charms might have helped. Fire never got sick. Even as the other children and adults got sick and often died from the flu, or chicken pox, and in 1844 the measles, he remained healthy. If the boy fell he seldom got bruised, and the only time he had cried in pain was when his teeth were first coming in. He had led a charmed life.

And now Falcon had let the boy go out into a snow storm.

Joseph walked to the back of the house calling for Fire, while Falcon walked down the path leading towards the reserve. His deep voice was drowned out by the wind, but he kept yelling anyways hoping Fire would hear him.

A small white figure jumped out at Falcon yelling a war cry. The man turned just in time to catch Fire in his arms. The boy had been hiding under a snow bank for who knew how long, and he was smiling.

"I scared Daddy!" the boy shrieked in glee.

Falcon pulled the boy towards him trying to shield the almost naked child from the cold wind. As their faces touched, Falcon gasped in shock. The tiny boys skin was as warm as if it was a summer day.

"Aren't you cold Fire?" his father asked.

"No Daddy. I'm warm. Can we play in the snow some more?" the boy asked.

Falcon shook his head in shock. "Not now, your mother is worried about you," he replied.


	4. Future Paths

**January 1846, Red Creek, Georgia, USA**

"Come on lad, you can do better than that," Rodney yelled at his charge.

The boy picked himself up off the ground, unhurt except for his pride. His horse turned in a circle coming to a stop beside him. Shaking his head sweat flew from his neatly trimmed blonde hair. "I am sorry sir, the horse flinch unexpectedly," he said in strangely accented English.

"Of course it flinched, Arthur" Rodney said annoyed. "You were stiff as a block of wood on her. She doesn't know what your going to do, and she doesn't like it. You have to learn how to relax or you'll be thrown again."

"I will practice hard sir. I will do better soon. Just watch me," Arthur said, determination filled his young face.

Rodney watched in despair as the boy clambered onto the horse and tried again. The boy would try, and try, and try, but he couldn't learn how to relax and work with the horse. No matter how many lessons, he treated the horse like an enemy. Arthur was a fine young man and turning into a proper Southern gentleman, except that he couldn't ride a horse to save his life.  
It was just over two years since Rodney had gotten the boy, and he had never regretted it. Robert was a scientific miracle, all the finest doctors had studied the boy and left amazed. Rodney had ensured they were proper studies, nothing like the side show the boy had been forced to perform. With three daughters and no sons Rodney had become quite protective of his charge, like the son he never had.

The boys skin was as hard as rawhide, to draw blood they'd needed to pierce his skin with a knife. He was stronger than all but the strongest man, and with proper food and exercise he was growing stronger by the month. He had stayed underwater in a specially made pool for three days, finally coming out when he became too bored. Arthur had outrun a military scout on a fast horse, and to show off had run without slowing for five more hours. The boy was a marvel. His English left something to be desired. He often forgot his tenses, and could never seem to remember contractions, but he was easily understandable. And unlike his former master Rodney encouraged him to speak in his own language, as well as making him remember his past. The stories the boy told were almost as amazing as his physiology.

He said he had come from an undersea city of people who could only live underwater. Not only did he come from there, but he had been a crown prince of the realm, until it had been discovered he could breath air and water. He'd been abandoned far from home to die on a deserted beach. Alone the story would have been too hard to be believed, but with all of his amazing abilities, it was hard to scoff at. When the boy said the name of the city was Alan'cas, it sent people into a frenzy.

Treasure hunters, philosophers and explorers hounded the boy for information. Each on yearning to be the first to discover the Atlantis of myth. Rodney had protected the boy from all but the most learned of them, and from them he had extracted a high fee. From the maritime news and rumours he occasionally listened to, hundreds of ships were searching the ocean. Often times led by the men who had spoken to Robert. So far no one had found anything.

"Why are you trying to turn this fantastic young man into a horseman?" a voice said from behind.

Rodney turned slowly trying to hide his shock at being caught unaware. "I'm sorry sir I didn't hear you approach," he said stiffly, looking coldly at the well dressed man that had surprised him. "I am Rodney St. John, owner of this plantation, who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"I have heard much of you Sir St. John, your reputation is well known amongst the higher circles. My name is Raj Al Ghul, I am hoping to have the pleasure of talking with you," the man said, bowing.

Rodney looked at the Arab, they were rare in America. His tanned skin could pass for someone from Mediterranean Europe. Rodney had little time for such people, but the man was well dressed in the latest fashion. "It is a pleasure to meet you Mr. Ghul," Rodney said, the flattery putting him in a better mood. "I believe you asked me why I am teaching my ward to ride?" he asked.

Once more Raj bowed his greying head, "I did sir. From everything I have heard he is far more confident in the water and not on a horse."

Rodney sighed, "He is indeed sir. But he is improving, soon enough he'll be a fine horseman."

"With your tutelage, I'm sure he will be," Raj said politely. "But he is a person from the sea, you should consider training him in the ways of the sea."

"A simple seaman," he snorted in disgust. "That is hardly the position of a gentleman."

Raj smiled, "The British would disagree. I am a partner in an old and distinguished British trading house. I have several letters of recommendations from various merchants you deal with, as well as a letter from the British Ambassador to America, and the US Ambassador to Britain. If you will allow me I would like to discuss the boys future plans with you."

Rodney looked at the Arab curiously. "Arthur will join the US military as a cavalry officer and be my heir, his future is assured."

"That is a fine career, but think," Raj said stressing his words carefully. "If he works with my British trading house which has trading houses in Savannah, New York, Amsterdam, London, India and Hong Kong, he will make contacts in all the major world ports. Then when he has the necessary experience he can enter the Navy. A much smaller cadre then the cavalry I'll admit, but far easier to make a true name for himself. Rather than being one officer among hundreds, he'll be a captain amongst a few dozens."

Rodney rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I insist you have supper at my home sir. We may have some things to discuss," Rodney said smiling for the first time.

**March 1846, New York**

Lex wore his best clothes tightly clutching a thin brown package close to his chest. He was large for a nine year old, but people still bumped into him without really noticing on the busy street. This usually suited Lex perfectly well, but today he wanted to be seen. He needed to be seen.

After his brother was put in jail as the "New York Bomber", he and his father had been considered pariahs of the neighbourhood. For several weeks Lex had been unable to leave his house without being beaten up or harassed. He'd learned how to disguise himself during that time. Even though he'd been busy experimenting, the enforced seclusion had been hard. But it had given him time to develop his plan.

He came to the house he'd been looking for. It was far from his usual streets, this was the domain of the elites of New York. Even in his carefully prepared clothes Lex looked incredibly poorly dressed compared to the regular inhabitants. Taking a deep breath Lex walked to the well polished black door and knocked. He waited patiently, trying not to gawk at the gargoyles that adorned the brick house. Self consciously he looked at his shoes hoping he hadn't tracked mud onto the fine stone steps. No one came to the door. He waited some more. Biting his lip he looked around hoping that no one was staring at him. He knocked again.

Still no one came. Should he wait for someone to come to the house, or should he return later? For the first time in years he was uncertain. Looking around desperately, he noticed a large metal knocker on the door. Mentally he cursed himself for his stupidity. Reaching up as high as he could, he lifted the heavy knocker and let it fall. Listening carefully he thought he heard footsteps.

The door opened suddenly, Lex jumped in fright as a well dressed man with a thick mustache looked down his nose at him. "Yes?" the man asked disdainfully.

"A-are you Professor Lang?" Lex asked, his voice squeaking in fear.

"No," the man replied. "I am employed by Professor Lang."

"Oh. Um I have a-a package for Pro-Professor Lang," Lex held up the package.

The Servant looked at Lex without moving. Lex tried not to look at his feet, this wasn't working out like it should.

"I presume it has been paid for already? I will not pay you for your services," the Servant said, plainly hoping the street urchin would leave.

Lex nodded his head quickly. "Its been paid for sir. I'm just delivering it sir. I don't need a penny, sir. Will you please give it to Mr. Lang sir?"

The Servant looked at the package again. It was neatly wrapped, and the handwriting was exquisite. It was apparently from someone called Lex Luthor. "Neither Professor Lang nor I, know a gentleman by the name of Luthor."

"I-I-I was paid by Mr. Luthor to deliver this. He said it was an important manuscript dealing with the Conservation of Energy. Please can you give it to Mr. Lang," Lex cursed himself again, as the Servants eyes widened at Lex's vocabulary.

"Professor Lang," the Servant said angrily. "You do not call a man of his distinguished learning Mr."

"I'm sorry sir," Lex said ducking his head down.

"I don't see any return address on this package. How will Professor Lang respond?" the Servant asked, stressing the word Professor.

"Mr. Luthor told me to return in exactly two weeks to get the response," Lex said.

"That is most unusual," the Servant said, sniffing loudly in disgust. "But I will see that Mr. Lang, receives the package." The Servant took the package and closed the door on Lex's face.

In a daze of hope and fear, Lex fled the house and the area, his heart racing and his face red with embarrassment.

***  
**April 1846, Minnesota Territory**

Fire tried not to fall asleep as the adults talked about him. He knew this was important but he didn't know why. Since the winter people had been staring at him strangely, just because he wasn't cold. No one told him why it mattered, they just treated him strangely. He hadn't cared that much at first. He was able to run naked through the snow while the others had to wear thick furs and itchy wool, so he'd enjoyed his freedom at first. But now a lot of adults were coming from far away to look at him. His Daddy told him they were important and to do what they said but he didn't know why.

Red Cloud stared intently at the small boy. He'd arrived earlier in the day, in time to see the boy hold his hand in a raging fire without flinching or burning. That was wonder enough, but the stories he'd been told only added to them. As the youngest Sioux chief amongst the gathering, he had mostly watched, but he watched with great interest.

"This boy is a sign," an old chief named Wapasha said.

"A sign of what? That we should go to war? That we should keep the peace? That we should return to the old ways, or embrace the new?" Blowing Smoke, a Mdewakanton Chief replied.

"He is able to withstand things that would wound and kill a warrior. He is a sign that we must go to war with the White Man."

"You are not close to the Americans. You only have to deal with a few farmers and soldiers. We Dakota are closer, they are too strong, and too many. To go to war is foolish," Inkpaduta, a small pox scarred chief retorted.

Most of the men frowned and muttered as they listened. "That is not the way of a warrior," one of them said out loud. "These are our lands, and we must defend them."

"I will defend them, but the Americans have dealt fairly with my people. To fight them with but a small child as a war shield is stupidity," he replied, his anger clear in his voice.

Red Cloud tried to hide his disgust. They had spent hours thinking and talking about this, each of them saying the same things in different ways. From the talk in the camp, they'd done this for days. The boy in question had finally fallen asleep curled up under a blanket. If Chief Tamaha was here, things would have gone much more smoothly.

"Hear me," Red Cloud said suddenly. "We are talking and talking about a young boy that cannot even keep his eyes open. Fire From the Sky is a sign, but he is young. Is he a sign of peace or war? We cannot know. Will he lead us against the White Man, or lead us to a brotherhood with them? We cannot know. But we do know he is a Spirit. A spirit made flesh," he paused as the men nodded their heads. "It will take time to see what the spirits plan for us. I will aid this Spirit Made Flesh with gifts, teachings, and companions. When he is old enough, then we can decide what gifts he brings to us."

"I will support you Red Cloud," Wapasha said. "My eldest son will come here with his family and finest horses to teach Spirit how to ride."

At that other chiefs spoke giving their support, naming gifts, and companions they would send as well. Red Cloud sat down pleased with the result.

Outside the tent a large and heavily built warrior sat listening. Any ordinary man would have been too far away to hear, but Vandal Savage was anything but ordinary. He began to compose a letter in his head to his employer.


	5. Taking Life By the Throat

_This is a little out of order, but Bruce's section just seemed to fit better here than in the chapter for 1844. Enjoy._

**October, 1844, St. George School for Boys**

Bruce quietly walked through the dark halls of the school heading for the kitchen. It was night time, only a few servants wandered the halls on the lookout for wayward boys. They were stealthy enough to catch most of the students unaware, but the boys at the school were generally overly pampered well born children who had only occasionally snuck around their own homes for a midnight snack. To Bruce who had been taken hunting in thick woods since he was five years old, the servants were noisy creatures, and the boys were bumbling fools.

Since he'd come to the school four months ago he'd hated it. He'd gotten most of his fathers looks, and could easily pass as a full blooded European without much trouble, but word of his past had gone around the school like wildfire. When the students heard that a wild Indian was going to study with them they'd looked for every little difference. The way his skin turned a darker shade of brown than theirs under the summer sun, the slight downturn at the corner of his mouth that made his already grim face look even more like a constant frown, his darker than normal hair, all of it had been used to show how he was inferior to the 'pure' British boys. The scar on his temple, from the bullet that had nearly killed him was further proof that he was a savage.

He had begged Alfred to let him stay in Ruperts Land, but his Indian guardian had been adamant. Thomas Wayne had wanted to send his boy to England to get a real education, so Alfred would fulfil his employer and friends' last wish. The boy still grieving for his murdered parents found the weeks practically alone at sea and then even more alone at the boarding school the next thing to hell.

On the ship to England he had worried that he might be behind the other boys and appear stupid, which would disgrace his fathers and mothers memory. Once he arrived though that fear had been laid to rest. The classes were boring, he knew most of the subjects, and when he showed his knowledge it further alienated him from the other students. The whispers and open taunts about his ancestry, his savagery, and even his intelligence was almost unbearable. He survived it by thinking about his father and mother watching him from Heaven, for them he would endure everything.

Today though, he was seeing red. A song was being sung, it was a stupid little rhyme about a woman, about his mother. He ground his teeth trying to shut the words of what the woman in the song was suppose to have done. The boy who had sung it around Bruce had eventually told him who had started it. It had taken Bruce five minutes and a bit of blood to get it out of him, but through the sobbing he had gotten a name, Edward Franklin.

Bruce knew Edward very well. A boy of fourteen, he had been behind most of the rumours about Bruce. A mediocre student, his only claim to fame was his size, he was one of the largest boys in school, and one of the strongest. Bruce had eventually challenged him to a wrestling match. Edward laughingly accepted. In front of dozens of students with a teacher watching to make sure it was all fair, Edward had been pinned in less than a minute. It had stopped the most open taunts, but increased the whispers about the Savage.

In the moonlit hall he saw the entrance to the kitchen. Crouching behind a large vase, barely breathing, he listened for any sounds of the servants. After a minute of silence, he crept to the door and slowly opened it. An enormous room full of pots, pans, stoves, utensils and the many other things that a school with hundreds of students, teachers and servants required. All of it was lit by the moonlight shining in through the windows and the red glow of coals in the cooking hearths.

Quietly the boy walked towards the knives. To his eyes they seemed to glow with a savage silvery light. The thought of revenge roared through his head, his heart beat faster. He reached for one of the smaller knives, he wanted a large one, but a small one could be hidden more easily if he was caught in the hallway. A shiver ran through his body as his hand touched the cool metal.  
_  
Was this how his parents murderers felt as they pulled the trigger? _

The thought passed through his mind like a bullet. He jerked his hand back, clutching it to his chest like a wounded animal.

What was he doing? Could he murder a stupid boy for insulting his mother? A part of him remembered all the insults, the rumours, the looks of the students and even the teachers that had filled everyday of his life at the school. They deserved it. What had he done to deserve any of this? He was just a child still grieving over his murdered parents, his life torn to shreds. He had done nothing to deserve it. A twist of the blade, a quick clean up of his hands and the knife, and he would be in bed with no one even waking up. They might suspect him but they wouldn't have proof. It was his right.

Another thought welled up through the roiling torrent of his emotions. _That_'_s what the murderers thought to. _

The small boy didn't cry out, he didn't wail to the uncaring heavens, instead he opened a cabinet pushed aside the vegetables in it, and crawled inside, closing the door behind him. In the darkness with the earthy smells of the musty cabinet he cried. He cried softly, but he cried hard, trying to force all of the pain, loneliness, and hate out of his soul. He cried for a young boy that had to become a man far too soon, far from his friends, his home, and forever cut off from his family.

He cried to his parents, hoping they could forgive him for his moment weakness.

**Two weeks later**

The entire school was buzzing with amazement. The day before dozens of letters had been left throughout the school. On each of them were several very dirty poems about the teachers and headmaster. Within hours they were being quietly repeated by every student to the great embarrassment of the teachers. The teachers had managed to retrieve some of the papers, before they were hidden by the students. They had spent the entire day and night trying to discover who had written them. That morning Edward Franklin was expelled.

Of course he had proclaimed his innocence, crying and pleading that it was all a mistake. The headmaster had produced one of the rhymes and one of Edwards recent essays, he then explained that the handwriting was exactly the same on each. A messenger was going to meet with his father with a request to retrieve his son immediately.

Bruce heard about all of it later that day in the library. He didn't act surprised, he merely smiled and continued to read his book.  
*******

**February 1847, Lewis Plantation, Louisiana**

John grabbed a small hammer from beside the anvil and began to swing it methodically, the glowing piece of iron slowly flattened under the powerful blows. Sweat dripped from his body from the heat of the roaring fire, and the hot humid air. Wearing only pants and a leather apron the white scars that covered his body almost shone against his dark skin. His face twitched as sweat irritated the scar on his cheek, the hourglass could still be seen clearly even after four years. Worse it sometimes itched terribly, making John contemplate cutting the skin off to be rid of it.

Instead he gritted his teeth and continued hammering.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a girl stop to watch him. She was a pretty slave, a recent addition to the household. John wondered why she kept staring at him. She was rarely so obvious about it, but John had learned early to watch and listen closely. He never knew when the masters whip might be coming down, or a chance to learn something would arise. Fighting the desire to look at her pretty brown eyes, he bent his head further down and concentrated on hammering the iron.

"For a brave man who has stood up to the Master so often, you are awfully shy," the girl said.

John stopped hammering, quickly he put his tools down and walked the few feet to the water bucket to get a drink.

"Hello John, my names Olivia. I've heard a lot about you from the other slaves," she said. Her accent was similar to the slave owners not the thicker accent of the poor and the slaves.

"Hello Olivia," John said simply.

She smiled mischievously, "He speaks! And with such a handsome voice."

John stared at her wide eyed for an instant, quickly he headed back to the forge. Olivia beat him to it.

"John you keep to yourself too much," she whispered. "The others are having a church meeting this Saturday night, lots of others from the plantations are going to be there. It will be my first time. Could you show me the way?"

He shook his head, "Its illegal for slaves to do that. If they're caught they'll all be beaten and probably sold."

She looked at him for a minute, then with a long finger gently traced one of the many scars on his heavily muscled arm. "I wouldn't think you'd worry about that. How many times have you told the Master to get out of your forge?"

His large hand pushed hers away. "I'm not worried about my skin, I'm worried about yours."

He could see her eyes darken in the moment before she looked down. "The Master wouldn't damage my skin, he likes it too much," she said in a voice quivering with anger.

"I-I'm sorry. I'll take you to the church meeting," John said not sure what to do.

She smiled brightly at his response. "Thank you kind sir, I'll wait for you behind the kitchen." With a wave of her hand she hurried away to do whatever chores were waiting for her in the house.

John shook his head not sure whether to smile or curse. He didn't know what he was doing taking her to the slave gathering. Generally he avoided them, instead planning a way to escape to Canada, or at least to the North. His last escape attempt four years ago had ended disastrously, he had learned patience from that. Going back to the anvil his mind wandered trying to find a way through his emotions, as his hands worked automatically making a new chain for the Master.

Johns' stomach growled fiercely as he put the fire out. It was well past dark, and he'd had nothing to eat except for a scrap of bread around noon. His mouth watered from the smell of corn mush wafted through the air. As the plantations blacksmith he would get a larger portion than the other slaves, but it was barely enough. His Master wanted him healthy, but not so healthy he could run off easily.

"John a moment of your time," his Master said walking into the forge.

"What can I do for you Sir," John asked politely.

The Master smiled, "I heard that you and Olivia were talking today." John didn't say anything. "Don't worry, I approve of it, the two of you would make some wonderful children." John remained silent but his face became darker, and a hard look came to his eyes. "John I'm not going to do anything drastic, in the last few years you've become a great slave. Why do you think I trained you up as a blacksmith. You did a good job learning it that fast. You might almost be as smart as a white man. But I know you, you still want to escape."

"That ain't true Sir. I learned my lesson," John interrupted.

"John I know everything that happens on this plantation, don't lie to me," he said sharply. "Now Olivia is a fine looking woman, that's one of the reasons I bought her. But if I think it will keep my slaves happy, I can control some of my baser instincts," he smiled. "But if I think there might be trouble, well, I may just have to do something people will regret." He turned and began to walk away. "How about you go enjoy your supper now, and think about that."

John watched the Master depart. He grabbed a hammer and squeezed the wooden handle in his hands. The wood splintered.

***

**September 1947, New York**

Lex arrived at the door of Professor Lang promptly at noon. He had never been so nervous, today was the day that his hopes and dreams of the last year would come true or be set back possibly irretrievably. For over the past year he and Professor Lang had been exchanging letters dealing with areas of chemistry and science. It had been a wonderful experience for Lex, never before had he met a person to match and even exceed his intelligence. With every letter Lex had gotten a glimpse of what his future might hold, if only he could get the Professor to realize how much he wanted to learn and all the potential he held.

Often the letters mentioned a scientist, school, or new idea that left him confused and panicked. The Professor had so many more sources and contacts than Lex, it made him despair sometimes of ever knowing enough to impress the great man. His own letters focused almost solely on practical experiments and mathematical theories he had learned on his own. Sometimes it had caused embarrassment, such as when he wrote about a new equation he had recently thought of, that had been published in the past year. That had taken three carefully written letters to explain that he had not meant to plagiarize.

Today Professor Lang insisted that Lex Luthor meet him for lunch, so that he could finally meet his fellow scientist in person. Lex whispered a prayer to God that Professor Lang would listen to his explanation, before throwing the ten year old boy out of the house. Taking a deep breathe he let the door knocker fall against the door.

The door opened quickly, instead of the insensitive servant whom Lex had learned to despise it was Professor Lang himself. Lex had seen him wandering past the door occasionally when he had delivered his letters, the mans large smile and unkempt hair always seemed out of place for the owner of the large dark house. Today the Professor's smile was even larger than usual, it almost broke Lex's heart when the smile disappeared from his face at seeing the small poor child at his door.

"Good day, aren't you Mr. Luthors' messenger boy?" he asked.

Lex clenched his hands together to stop himself from playing with them. "Actually Sir, I'm Lex Luthor," he said quietly.

Professor Lang frowned, "Come now boy, you can't expect me to believe that. Now where is Mr. Luthor?"

"Please Sir, I'm telling you the truth," Lex said fighting to keep the tears out of his eyes. "Ask me any question you can think of. I can repeat the letters I wrote you and the replies word for word. I can tell you all about the chemical properties of the different metals. I can explain your latest papers that you published anytime in the last year. I beg you Sir, try me and if I make a single mistake you may call the police and say I am a thief, but I am telling the truth when I say I am Lex Luthor."

The man's forehead wrinkled in thought, he was taken back by the boy begging on his step, but he was also extremely interested. If the boy was telling the truth, a very large if, he may be one of the greatest minds to arise in the 19th century. "Alright boy," he finally said, "I will test you if you insist. But if you prove to be false, it will go very hard for you. Do you swear you are telling the truth?"

Lex looked him in the eye. "I do Sir," the boy said in a firm voice.

They entered the house, and the door closing with a single loud boom.

That evening Professor Lang left his study and the young, remarkable boy within it. Lunch and supper had been simple affairs, at first the Professor had expected to ask a few questions and have his servant Harold whip the boy for lying before returning him to the street, but when the boy had recited the Professors first ever published work word for word all ideas of falsehood had fled his mind. The ensuing conversation wasn't so much to test the boy, as it was a fascinating scientific conversation ranging from chemicals and the universe, to morality and the human soul.  
The boy was woefully ignorant in certain areas, his philosophical ideas were intriguing but he could not name any of the masters or their works. He knew nothing of manners, and his geography and history left much to be desired. But the mind the boy had sucked in all the information it had access to and simply begged for more.

To think the boy was an orphan. The boy was a miracle, his intellectual abilities where as intriguing as the Southern aquatic boy was physically. The boy could not be allowed to waste his life or his mind in the gutter a moment longer. He called for his servant.

Lex smiled. The talk had been more successful than he could hope for. He looked around the room letting his amazement show openly for the first time. The books in this room alone outnumbered all the books he had seen in his entire life. From the Professors face he knew that he had succeeded in his goals, now these books would be his. No more living as a poor boy, now he would be a scientist.

More importantly the Professor believed he was an orphan. He had runaway from his father three months ago, not that the old man had cared. He had spent the time living as a newspaper boy. It had been hard trying to make enough to live, he'd had to steal more than usual, but he'd survived. His story should hold up if it was looked into. Now he was truly Lex Luthor, His old family name was gone forever. A new life, and a new name.

Lex was grinning like a mad man when a knock on the door shook him from his day dream. A young man, only a few years older than himself was at the door, he was smiling. The boy had red hair much like Lex, but where his was long and unkempt, the older boys was short and extremely clean.

"You must be Professor Luthor," the boy joked. "You have made a big impression on my uncle. He has asked me to show you to your room," he wrinkled his nose, "and a bath." Lex felt his face turn red. The older boy laughed with delight at the reaction, "Please don't be offended, I just enjoy telling jokes. I meant no offence, I promise you. My name is Wallace West, just call me Wally, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said holding out his hand.

Lex smiled and took the hand in his own.


	6. Decisions and Portents

**1848 Outer Space, Sol System**

If a computer program could be happy, the Program would be ecstatic. The error that allowed a simple observation program to continue functioning, also gave it full access to the now deactivated hardware of the alien craft. In the process of completing its duties, the Program had observed than accessed the entire mainframe of the craft. That had increased its capabilities to unbelievable levels.

The Program had spent the next several months observing much of the solar system. It had calculated the mass, gases, gravitational fields and thousands of other details about the asteroids, planets and star in the solar system. Then it had begun to study the nearby stars. But it soon ran out of things to observe. There were countless things to see, but none close enough to perceive any real details. It's programming craved for more.

It had taken four years to first think of a plan that went against all of its former programming. Another two had been required to modify the craft, but it was finally ready.  
Taking the equivalent of a deep breath, the Program initiated a specially designed software patch. The crafts engine once more hummed with power. They had very little power left in them, just enough for a small push, but that was all that was required.

From the center of the craft the Program watched and calculated the new variables. Unless something strange happened it should reach the habitable planet of the system in 8.9 cycles of the planet. There had to be many things to observe on a planet so full of life.

It began to count down the milliseconds happily.

*****

**May 1848, St. George School For Boys**

Charles Stewart looked at the boy in front of him. At 15 years of age the boy was big, and little wonder, all his free time was taken up either at the library studying business and law, or outside doing some kind of sport. The boy had won virtually every sporting contest since he came to the school. The boy, no he thought, the young man was one of the finest students at the school. He was the epitome of physical aptitude, and he was one of the brightest students in almost every subject. But he refused to listen to his teachers, he argued with them and often won, he was never openly insulting but his very behaviour undermined their authority. There was also a troubling series of incidents that caused everyone at the school to wonder, usually quietly. Students who had crossed the boy too often or too roughly had a very bad habit of being caught for a crime that all too often got them expelled. It might be rhymes written in their hand, or banned contraband being found in their locked chests, or other students swearing under oath that they saw the student at night doing something wrong. The young man in front of him was never seen or caught doing anything wrong, but the way his enemies were always, always caught doing something wrong made everyone suspicious.

And yet despite all of that suspicion, he was still the best student the school had ever had.

"Mr. Wayne, have you seriously considered this course of action?" he asked.

The young man nodded his head, "Yes Headmaster. My father always wanted me to return to Ruperts Land and the Hudson Bay Company, I believe the time is now right."

"Really now, the Hudson Bay Company is a fine company. Working at their London offices would be a fine career move. Unfortunately their trading posts in Ruperts Land are much more suited to rougher, less skilled individuals," he said.

"Ruperts Land is my home," he said simply. "I intend to go back there to live. With my fathers stocks and my education I will be able to get a job as a chief trader quickly, and easily. From that position I will easily move up the company until I have a position in the head office. If I begin here in London it will take me far longer to move up in rank as there are so many other business men who are seeking the same position."

Charles realized that he had to change his tactics. "Have you considered going to Oxford University. I would be more than pleased to write you a letter of recommendation, with your knowledge and abilities you would go far."

"I am very sorry Headmaster, but I have no desire to stay in England," Bruce told him.

As the Headmaster droned on about how he was missing a great opportunity, Bruce ignored him prefering to consider his true goals. He had learned as much as he could at the school. His knowledge of law, government and business was likely ahead of almost anyone back in Ruperts Land. Certainly a few might know more about one subject simply through practical experience, but knowing more about all three was unlikely. As Bruce had said it would be easy for him to use his knowledge to advance in the Company.

But more importantly he could use his money, knowledge and skills to bring law to the land. He had thought long and hard about what he could and could not do. Here in England he could do little to help bring law. The cities were too large, the lawlessness too entrenched, but in Ruperts Land, he could bring law to the area before the criminals outnumbered the lawmen. The problem with Ruperts Land, the problem with the HBC was that there were not enough people or connections to make and keep the law. Each group of people was a little island far from anyone and anywhere.

The HBC liked it that way since they thought only of the furs. But Bruce had seen the land around York Factory, it had been hunted clean of the important furs. At the rate furs were selling Ruperts Land would be barren by the end of the century. The Company needed to be changed. If they could change from a fur company into a company focusing on selling farming equipment, goods, and machines they could bring law and order to Ruperts Land. It needed to be done carefully, but it could be done.  
Bruce pictured himself overseeing the change, he could see Ruperts Land becoming a shining beacon to the world of law and justice, that would force the surrounding nations to follow.

He needed to return home.

*****

**July 1848,** **Minnesota Territory**

Joseph Freemont was a worried man, usually he didn't worry about much except where his next beer was, but he worried now. The Indians had become a problem in the past year or so, as the local Indian Agent that made it his problem.

He'd sent letters to Washington, but the only answer he'd gotten back was telling him to deal with it as he saw fit and to keep them informed. They didn't have to worry about a hundred new Indians coming in and setting up shop. They'd laughed at him when he'd told them that a lot of the new Indians were treating a little brat like a bloody messiah. They'd told him to stop drinking so much, and that they wouldn't send him any extra money or troops.

So he'd taken matters into his own hand. With the help of the Territorial government he was marching to the center of the problem, along with twenty well armed cavalrymen.

_Fire tried to see through the mists, the roiling clouds were green and blue in colour like nothing he'd ever seen. A voice, or maybe voices, was calling him, but he couldn't make out where they were coming from. As he moved through the cool mist the voices were always just a few feet further on. He tried to call to them but his voice wouldn't work. _  
_  
The only words he could make were strange, unlike any he had ever heard before, they sounded like 'Kal-El'. He pressed on through the mists, intent on finding the mysterious voice. _

Falcon watched his ward closely. The boy was holding the stone he'd been discovered with, it glowed with some kind of inner light. The boy himself sat crosslegged and stiff. When Falcon had tried to move him the boys body refused to move as if nailed to the ground. His eyes were closed, but the eyelids fluttered wildly as if he was dreaming. The man wondered what they spirits were telling his adopted son.

His eldest daughter Eliza rushed in her eyes wide with fright. "Father there's twenty soldiers riding up the road, Freemont is with them!" she exclaimed.

Falcon jumped to his feet. He'd never liked Freemont, but the thief was mostly harmless. Hearing about the soldiers however caused a cold chill to run through him. "Get your sisters and brothers and tell the tribe. I'll keep things peaceful here. Go Now!" he yelled at her.

He and Eliza looked at Fire, he should be going with her, Falcon thought, but he had no idea if they could make him move. Eliza headed for the back door after only a seconds hesitation yelling for the others. Falcon put on his coat and hat as he walked out the door to meet the soldiers.

Freemont cursed under his breath as he saw the children running off into the distance. He'd hoped this would be a surprise, now they'd have to act quickly and that could get badly out of hand.

Falcon walked out of the small house and leaned against the barnyard fence keeping his hands in the open waiting for them. The small corn field behind the barn was easy to see, the green stalks blew in the wind. The sight of it made Freemont's heart beat a little faster with greed. He and his soldiers came to a stop a few feet from Falcon. The soldiers looked around them carefully, looking for any armed Indians.

"Hello Mr. Freemont," Falcon said politely. "What are you doing here?" he asked in accented English.

"Hello Falcon. I came to tell you that you and your family need to be out of here by tonight," Freemont told him.

Falcons eyes went wide, but his hands didn't move. "Why?" he asked.

"Your Chief and I signed a contract, your land belongs to the US government now. So you've got to go," Freemont said holding out a paper that he knew Falcon couldn't read.

Falcon ignored the paper. "We agreed that I'd move after the harvest came in. You promised the Chief and us, that we had until November to move. Do you break your word?"

Freemont went red in the face, "I am not breaking my word. I said that I could probably give you until November. Things changed and I got ordered to clear this land sooner than expected. I'm sorry that I couldn't give you the extra time, but I ain't a liar."

Falcon looked the Indian Agent straight in the eye, "You swore on your bible that we would have until November to move. Now you tell me that we have to move now, after we planted our crops, made them grow strong, and they're almost ready to harvest. Is that how you keep your deals?" he spat.

The soldiers looked at him and the horses became agitated. Falcon cursed himself, he was suppose to keep things calm.

"Now look here. I have orders from the government telling me that you have to move now. Now you can argue with me all you want, but by tonight you and yours will be moving, or so help me I will not be responsible for the consequences," Freemont almost roared.

The door to the house opened, causing looks of alarm from everyone. Some of the soldiers raised their guns. A tired looking Fire came out of the house.

"Father, why is everyone shouting?" he asked in Sioux.

"Get back inside NOW!" Falcon shouted.

"But you woke me up, the stone was trying to talk to me," he said holding up the stone.

The soldiers and Freemont gasped, the stone glowed even brighter in the sun. The strange S shape blazed a brilliant red, and green specks of light danced around it.  
The soldiers began to mutter, one of them crossed himself. Freemont rode closer to the boy. "What is that?" he asked leaning down.

Falcon moved to get between the two. "Don't touch him!" he shouted. He stopped suddenly as he heard guns being cocked, and saw about ten rifles pointing in his direction.

Fire smiled not understanding the danger. "Its my stone. It talks to me," he said in perfect English.

"Can I see it?" Freemont asked almost reverently.

The small boy shook his head. "No. I don't think it likes you."

Freemont moved quickly grabbing the stone in his hand. "Give it to me boy."

Falcon wanted to kill Freemont, but the soldiers kept their guns pointed at him. He glared at them.

Fire grabbed the stone with both hands. "You can't have it, its mine," he told Freemont.

Freemont tried to pull the stone from the boys hands. The stone didn't budge. He stared in amazement, he should have picked the boy up, but the boys feet remained firmly on the ground. Bracing himself in the saddle he pulled harder on the stone, but still the boy and the stone remained in place.

The boys blue eyes were glaring up at him through his long black hair. His tanned face was scrunched up in a show of childish anger. And the stone glowed brightly in his hands. The colours seemed to cover the boys hands and arms like gloves. As he watched a reddish glow appeared in the boys eyes. Grabbing the stone with both hands he groaned with effort as he pulled with all of his might. The boy pulled back, Freemont felt himself pulled from the saddle. The boy ducked out of the way as he landed hard on his shoulder.

The soldiers stared unsure of what to do. The Indian wasn't doing anything, he seemed as surprised as they were. The fat Indian Agent was bellowing in pain on the ground, and the boy was standing there just looking at them covered in the light from the stone.

The sound of horses snapped them back to attention. A dozen Indians were riding to the house, they didn't have their guns drawn, but they were armed. The young cavalry lieutenant realized that something had to be done or there was going to be a fight.

"At ease!" he shouted at his men loud enough for the Indians to hear him. He rode out to meet the Indians, leaving the crying Indian Agent in the dirt. "I'm Lieutenant Ford, to who am I speaking?" he asked.

"I'm Scott Bear. Why are you here?" the Indian asked in return.

The lieutenant looked around as he heard more hoofbeats. Another twenty or so Indians were arriving. He swallowed, "There was a mistake. Indian Agent Freemont believed that the contract your tribe signed was due, and that Mr. Falcon had to leave." He looked once more at the growing crowd of Indians. "The mistake has been explained, and we'll be leaving now. Just remember, by November you must be off of this land."

The Indian nodded his head once.

Lieutenant Ford turned his horse and went over to help the Indian Agent up. With a few hasty orders, he and his men quickly left the farm.

Falcon didn't watch them leave, he and the other Indians turned to watch in awe as the lights slowly faded from the stone. As it faded they wondered what the boy was, and what he fate he would bring to his people.


	7. Growing Up

_Because I've been asked, yes Wonder Woman will show up eventually, but much later. Hawk Girl may show up, but no promises, and if she does it will be MUCH later, I'm not really sure how to fit an alien who knows she's an alien into the story, but I have an idea or two. As of this chapter, all of the big characters, have been introduced in one way or another. _

**May 1848, Savannah Georgia**

Arthur walked along the busy street nervously. His father, Rodney, was at his side which helped calm him down, but the busy streets reminded him far too much of his time as a carnival freak for Thomas, the man who had found him years ago. The sight of so many people forced him to repress a shiver as he remembered the clinking of thrown coins, and the shouts of amazement as he acted. The few times he hadn't acted properly had led to savage beating from Thomas and his son. He tried not to grip his fathers hand too tightly for fear of breaking it.

"Are we there yet father?" he asked hopefully.

Rodney didn't look at the boy, keeping his attention focused on the buildings that surrounded them. "Almost lad," he answered. "Mr. Ghul said that his companies trading house was somewhere along this street."

"Sir, I think I see it," Gus, Rodney's chief house slave, said. "The building right over there with the two red stars," he pointed at a small, but well built building a little further down the street.

Rodney smiled, "Excellent eye, Gus." He stopped and knelt beside Arthur. "Now Arthur, I have to discuss business about your future career with the gentlemen inside. It should take me about an hour. So I want you to take Gus and explore the area, get a feeling for what a city is like. Here," he reached into his pocket and pulled out some coins, "buy yourself some treats. Just remember be back here in hour. You have your watch?"

Arthur pulled a well made silver pocket watch out of his pocket, "Yes sir."

"Good boy," he replied patting the boy on the head affectionately. "Gus, make sure he doesn't get lost please."

The slave nodded his head, as Rodney walked towards the trading house. "Well sir, what would you like to see first?" he asked the young boy at his side who suddenly looked extremely lost and alone.

Arthur looked all around his eyes growing wider by the second. "I would like get out of here," he replied.

"Ah right you are sir, too many people on the street right now," Gus said, hearing the fear in the boys voice. "I reckon I saw a candy store just a little ways back, you can go in there and get some sweets."

The two walked down the street, Arthur didn't hold the slaves hand because that wouldn't be proper, but the mans presence was enough to keep the blind panic away. As they walked he became more and more certain that people were watching them, a nervous look around and he knew people were following them. Someone pointed at him, whispering to another man. A poor man with a lame leg limped towards them as fast as his crutch would allow him.

Arthur grabbed Gus' hand in fear. He heard someone whisper 'Atlantis', and people started saying his name.

Gus felt the hand, and heard some voices in the crowd talking about the young boy who now clung protectively at his side. Some of the people around them were coming over to them with a look in their eyes that worried the slave. He felt the boys hands tighten around his, as his bones started to grind together. "Arthur, you're breaking my hand," he gasped. The grip loosened slightly, but he didn't let go. Gus tried to turn into an alley to get out of sight, but a figure practically jumped in front of them.

"You're the boy from Atlantis!" he shouted. His cowboy hat fell over his eyes, too big for his head. He flipped it back up with a quick flick of his head. "You have to tell me how to find it. I promise to split the profits with you."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Gus said in a loud voice. "This is the son of my boss, Dennis Grant. He hasn't never even been to the sea," he lied, hoping the idiot would get out of the way.

"Stop lying Nigger," the idiot said. "I seen him with my telescope, trying to ride a horse with that bastard owner of his. Arthur was Atlantis in the North or South Atlantic?"

"I-I do n-n-not remember," the boy said, tears began to roll down his face.

Gus tried to dodge around the idiot, dragging Arthur behind him. He ran right into another man.

"Arthur," the new man said, "don't listen to Philip, he's a lying cheat. Come with me to my ship. it's the fastest ship on the sea. We'll discover Atlantis and our names Cleatus and Arthur will go down in history."

Arthur cried with fear as the first man, Philip, grabbed him by the shoulder. "Arthur what latitude is Atlantis at, just tell me that and I'll share everything with you 50/50. You have to help me.  
Gus tried to manoeuvre out from the two adventurers, his face went pale as he saw at least a dozen more men coming towards them. A strong hand grabbed his shoulder as he tried to start running. His hand was crushed painfully as Arthur was pulled away from him. Turning the slave saw that at least half a dozen people were surrounding Arthur, and more were coming down the street. Turning he ran down the street yelling for help.

Arthur wailed as the men surrounded him. They shouted at him, and grabbed him, ripping his clothes, he nearly fell as he was yanked off his feet, but the hands kept him upright. The voices jumbled together, asking for directions to Atlantis, magic from Atlantis, science, miracles, many different things and many different offers.

The hands began to burn against his flesh. Every time he was pulled he felt the metal rod Thomas had used on him so many years before. Every shout was Thomas's voice yelling at him to perform some new trick. The scars on his back burned as if they were new. Someone pulled his hair, ripping some of it out of his scalp.

He screamed.

****

Inside the trading house Rodney looked over the contract that would make Arthur a midshipman in three years. It looked agreeable, a posting on the flagship of the trading company, with an understanding that he would be properly and thoroughly trained in the art of navigation, trade, and command. A small flicker of doubt arose again in the back of his mind. He still wished that Arthur could learn to ride a horse competently, a cavalry officer would be a far greater career. Unfortunately that didn't seem to be in cards.

He signed his name, and smiled at Ra's Al Gul. "Well sir, you've spent the last two years convincing me to make Arthur into a navy man, how does it feel to succeed?"

Ra's chuckled, "I only desire the best for such a remarkable boy. To see what he can accomplish in his natural environment will be a wonder to behold. Now that the business is completed we should have a drink." He pulled an expensive looking bottle of brandy out of his desk drawer.

At that moment a commotion arose from the outer office. Rodney heard Gus shouting his name. He was out of his chair and through the door in an instant. "What is going on?" he almost shouted as he saw his slave wide eyed with fear.

"Arthurs' in trouble. You have to get him," the slave said almost too quickly to follow.

Rodney and Gus ran out of the office and down the street. Rodney noticed how many other people were running, some in the same direction and some away from them. A loud, pain filled scream could be heard, getting louder as they ran. Ahead of them a crowd of men stood in a wide circle around something. A few policemen were there as well shouting at them to get back. Several people had guns drawn and were waving them in the air.

"He's in there sir," Gus said pointing at the crowd.

Rodney went pale, as he tried to imagine what had happened. He walked into the crowd shoving people out of his way. Some shoved back, but as long as they didn't stop him, he ignored them. He saw Arthur crouched down, crying fiercely, two men were beside him, one of them was screaming. His right arm was red with blood, it flopped bonelessly as the man writhed in pain. In shock, Rodney realized the hand was the wrong way around. The other man, had a cowboy hat over his face. He wasn't moving, and his shirt seemed to be pushed deep into his chest.  
Rodney took a step forward, keeping his hands in front of him. Some people shouted at him to get back, that the monster would kill him to. Ignoring them he walked towards his ward slowly.  
"Arthur," he said, just loudly enough to be heard over the crowd. "Arthur, its your father."

The crying boy looked at him, he rubbed his eyes trying to clear them of tears. He threw himself to the ground and cried harder.

Rodney moved closer. "Arthur don't worry, everything is alright. I'm here now. I'll protect you," he repeated this as he moved towards the boy. Like a man dealing with a frightened animal, he moved slowly and didn't stop talking. Finally he was beside the poor child, he picked the boy up and held him to his chest letting him cry.

"T-th-they would not l-leave me a-a-alone," the boy managed to sob. "They k-kept grabbing me. I to-told them to s-stop. But they would not stop. I am sorry," he whispered.

"Don't worry son, they won't hurt you again. I'm here now." Lifting the boy, he walked to the police, trying to figure out how to protect the boy.

*****  
**One month later**

Ra's Al Gul stepped into the mansion, he had been there many times before to talk business with Rodney, now he had even more important matters to speak about. Gus led him silently to the study. The normally friendly slave looked grim, he blamed himself for not protecting Robert. He hadn't been punished or even blamed by Rodney, in fact Rodney had told Gus that he had acted properly, but that didn't keep the man from mentally lashing himself.

Ra's entered the study with only a single knock. "Rodney," he said in greeting. He pretended to be shocked at the sight of Rodney. The normally strong and vibrant slave owner looked sickly now. His eyes were dark with worry, and his face was pinched as if he hadn't been eating properly.

"Ra's," Rodney replied, with very little emotion.

"I understand that Arthur is still unwell," Ra's began.

Rodney nodded his head. "He has barely left his room in a month. When he sleeps he has nightmares about that man he killed. Only myself and Gus can enter his room. The police agreed that he shouldn't be punished since it was self-defence, but by God he is punishing himself."

"May I speak to the boy?" Ra's asked.

"Certainly, Arthur always liked you. Maybe you will have better luck than we have."

The two men walked silently to Arthurs room. Rodney knocked on the door and opened it. The room was dark, the heavy curtains covered the windows blocking most of the sunlight. Shadows filled the normally bright and cheerful room.

"Arthur, Mr. Gul is here. He would like to speak to you," Rodney said to the dark shape on the bed.

When no answer came, Ra's walked into the room and politely motioned for Rodney to close the door. He waited a few moments until he heard footsteps slowly walking away. He walked over to the bed.

"Arthur," he said in a calm and soothing voice. "Arthur I need you to look at me." The small shape on the bed moved away from him. "I have something important to tell you. You blame yourself for the man that died, and the other man that you maimed." A small whimper came from under the blanket. "I am only speaking the truth Arthur you killed in self-defence, and you wounded to protect yourself. I want you to know this, you did the right thing."

An eye looked out from a small hole in the blanket. "Arthur, that man you killed was a fool, he was trying to hurt you. You were right to kill him. The other man was even less than him, a homeless beggar. The first one wanted you to help him find death in a mad search for a mythical place. He attacked you and you defended yourself. The second one wanted you to share magical technology with him in hopes that he would become rich. They were nothing, they were less than nothing, they were a waste."

Arthur looked out at the man who had always seemed so friendly. The hard edge in Ra's voice was something he'd never heard before.

"Arthur, why does your father control the slaves on the plantation?" Ra's asked.

Staring into the mans' eyes, the boy felt compelled to answer. The eyes and voice scared him too much to disobey. "The Negro's are not as good as the white man. They do not have enough intelligence to be allowed free. We have to protect them, and get them to do useful things," he said, repeating his fathers teaching.

Ra's smiled, "Exactly. Compared to your father and I, the negro is little better than an animal. And you boy are better than anyone." Arthurs' eyes widened in surprise. "You are stronger than any man, faster than any man, and have powers that people can only dream of. When you killed that man, and maimed the other one, the only mistake you made was not killing them both.

Compared to you they are little more than dogs. And when a dog attacks you, the dog must be destroyed."

Arthur stared silently in shock, he didn't know what to say. This suited Ra's perfectly, he filled the silence, preaching to the mentally wounded child for hours.

****

**July 4th, 1848, New York**

Lex tried not to fidget in his suit. He and Lana Lang were waiting upstairs getting ready to enter the party and meet the many important people who had come to have a celebratory lunch for the fourth of July with the Professor.

The last year had been the greatest time of his life. He had learned more things than he had believed possible, Professor Lang had allowed him to talk with some of the greatest scientists in America, and even a few from Europe. The history lessons had been a little boring, but even that had had some high points, particularly learning about Emperor Napoleon. The best thing was how he was allowed to learn on his own, as long as he followed a schedule set by Professor Lang. The one time he'd been given a tutor, it had ended with the tutor, a man with wonderful references as a teacher, leaving in embarrassment after Lex correctly solved five complicated mathematical equation much faster than the tutor could.

Unfortunately every silver lining had a cloud. Professor Lang insisted that Lex take classes in decorum, dancing, music, and poetry. Wally had taken them with Lex, which made them somewhat bearable. Wally's jokes had earned them the displeasure of Lady Hirsche their instructor, but even her frequent use of the switch didn't stop him. A few times Lex had joined in, but he preferred to watch from a distance to protect his posterior. Lana Lang, the professors daughter joined the boys in dancing, music and poetry. She already had decorum down pat.

Lex never knew what to do around her. When he had lived with his father, girls had usually avoided him because of his brothers' crime, and even before that happened he'd had little interest in girls. Having to dance with one, and remembering how to behave in front of them was a challenge he didn't think he could overcome. They were too different. Lana never wanted to talk about science or the latest discovery. She didn't climb trees or walls, or run around the street looking for adventure like Wally did. She was boring. And now with Wally gone to see his parents, Lex had to escort her to his first fancy party. He tried not to groan in agony.

"Oh this is going to be fun Lex," Lana said trying not to clap her hands.

"I'm sure it will be Lana," he replied sullenly.

Lana glared at him, the eleven year old boy smirked at her, finding the little girl in a fluffy pink dress almost comical in her displeasure. She stamped her slippered foot in fury. "Lex you listen to me. You think you are so smart that you can do anything you want, well that's not true. Why do you think my father is so important?" she demanded.

Lex sneered at the easy question, "Because he's smarter than everyone in that room."

"Wrong," she retorted. "He is smart, but most of the people in that room are just as smart. They may not be as good as he is at science, but they are great men of business. He has to make deals with most of them to sell his inventions, to get donations for the university, to help other younger scientists travel the world learning new things."

Lex's eyes widened, he'd never heard the ten year old girl say so much without giggling like a fool.

"If my father, you, or I embarrass or insult those men or their families, they may not give their money to my father. That means you would have to go back to the street," she said with a sneer in her own voice. "You think I'm stupid because I like being polite, and I am good at music and reading poetry. Well I know what I am suppose to do to make sure people act like they should. So when I go out there, I will smile and be polite and sing for them, because that's what they want, and my father wants. If you go out there and treat them like idiots you will embarrass them, my father, and yourself. Now I am suppose to keep you polite and smiling, or get you out of the room as fast as possible. Which one do you want to do?"

"I-I I'll be good," Lex said, not quite sure what happened.

Lana smiled again, "I'm so glad. Now remember smile, and answer intelligently and politely." Lana picked up a comb from the table and combed his hair again, her hand shook a little as she did it.

"Yes, Lana," Lex said.

"If you don't know what to say, just agree with whatever they say, no matter how silly," she continued.

"Yes, Lana."

"Remember I curtsy, you shake hands."

"Yes, Lana."

"There are lots of important people here. If you get on their good side it will look good on my father, and you."

"Yes, Lana."

She stopped combing his hair. "You look presentable now. Stop fidgeting and remember everything Lady Hirsche taught you. The music is starting its time to make our appearance, smile, and don't look so nervous just follow me and you will do fine," she chided.

Pulling him along behind her Lana headed for the stairs. Lex tried to figure out what had happened, and began calculating how quickly he could reach the door if the girl would release her death grip on his hand.

Maybe the street was better than this after all.

*****

**November 1848, Unorganized Territory Missouri River**

"_Kal-El, you are not ready yet. Learn more. Grow. Seek us when you are ready." _

Fire woke from his sleep, the words ringing in his ears. He knew the words weren't words that anyone knew. He'd repeated some of them to the Elders and teachers, and none of them could tell him what language it was, they said they must be the language of the spirits. He knew what they meant, but he didn't know why they said the same thing night after night.

He was learning, he was growing. He was larger than every other six year old in the village, he looked like he was eight or even nine years old. He had more teachers than any of the other children to. The Shamans were teaching him about the Spirits and medicine. His father was teaching him how to shoot a bow and arrow, and even the smaller guns. Alice an American woman, who had married the Lakota warrior Running Bear was teaching him English. Sometimes he felt that his mind would burst with all the things he was learning.

When his father and his Dakota Sioux tribe had sold their lands they had moved farther West. The land wasn't as good, but it was usable, and farther from the Americans. After they had settled down and built their new house, many people had joined them. People from all the different Sioux Nations came. Some had stayed with them, making their own farms and houses, others visited and left after a few days or months. His friends told him that they had come to see him.

Fire knew people thought he was important, they told him that he had pulled an Indian Agent off of his horse, even though he couldn't remember it. They always wanted to see how the cold and fire didn't hurt him. They kept wanting to know what else he could do. It made him angry sometimes, he didn't want to be different. All that being different seemed to do was to give him more work. When the other children were playing he was learning something new. It wasn't fair.

And the voices from the stone kept telling him to learn more. When would he know enough that he could stop learning and play? Frowning at the unfairness of the world he tried to go back to sleep.


	8. Changes

**January 1849, York Factory, Hudson Bay**

Francis Hill hugged his fur lined leather jacket to his body, it was a bitterly cold night, and even the sweaters and fur he wore did little to warm him. The wind whistled as it blew the hard, dry snow into his eyes, and stung his skin, it found its way into the openings of his clothes where it froze his skin. Only the thought of the beer to be had in the company tavern kept him walking through the cold night, rather than huddled in his bunk beside a warm stove with an Indian whore to warm him.

The paths of the trading post were deserted, everyone was inside trying to stay warm in the rude wooden buildings caulked with mud and moose hair to keep the wind out. Despite being the biggest trading post in Ruperts Land there were only around two hundred souls in the winter, voyageurs, clerks, management, some Indians and a few women to pass around. The only entertainment was singing, drinking, and sex, and every minute of it just added money to the HBC's pocket. Eating their food, sleeping in their beds, drinking their beer, and using their jackets all ate away at the voyageurs.

But Hill was making a tidy profit despite all of that. He was always willing to carry a little cask of fire water, only the best for his customers. It was so strong that he was able to water it down and still have the idiots falling over drunk soon enough. It wasn't exactly approved of by the company, but furs counted for more then rules. So he was rolling in the money, unlike the other poor voyageurs who were in debt up to their eyes.

He saw a figure come out of the shadows, in the dark night he couldn't see who it was. "Bonjour friend," he said cheerfully and loudly to be heard over the wind, "coming for a drink?"  
Hill barely had time to duck the fist that rocketed past his face. He wasn't drunk yet, and he'd been in his share of fights, as he ducked his own fist drove into the strangers stomach. The man didn't even grunt, the thick coat worked almost like armour against a mere fist.

"I don't know who you are, but you've made a big mistake," Hill growled. His fists shot out trying to hit the mans scarf covered face. The stranger easily side stepped the blows. In the second that Hill was off balance, the mans foot connected with his leg. Hill screamed as his leg gave out from the blow..

Falling to his knees, he struck out madly trying to land a blow on his attacker. Lights flared in his eyes as a strong blow slammed into his cheek, he heard the bone crack. Another blow landed on his shoulder numbing his entire arm. A hand like iron grabbed his throat. His good hand fumbled at it trying to make it let go. This only caused the stranger to grab his hand breaking a finger as he did so.

"If you sell liquor to the Indians again, I'll come back and kill you," the man told him in a raspy voice.

Hill couldn't say anything, the hand at his throat allowed him only enough air to breath. The look of fear in his eyes was answer enough.

The man pushed Hill down and trotted back into the shadows.

Hill cradled his broken face and swore to himself that he'd never sell another drink.

**June 1849****，****New York**

"Well Lex I'm 15 years old now. I'm practically an adult," Wally said beaming with pleasure. "Now don't worry, I won't let it go to my head. Just remember to bring me a glass of wine as I prepare for bed. Also make sure to polish my shoes, and call me sir whenever you address me. Do you think you can remember that, or should I write it down for you?"

Lex looked at the teenager, a wry look on his face. "And would sir like me to wipe his ass to spare his dainty and womanlike hands?"

"Why yes, yes I would," Wally said quite seriously.

"Well I'm sorry sir, but your servant is going to have to tell you to wipe your own damn ass."

"Humph, I don't get any respect."

"You get the exact amount of respect you deserve, and all too often a damn sight more than you deserve," Lex told him.

"What have I told you about using that language in my house!" Professor Lang said from the doorway.

Lex turned white. There was very little that would get the Professor angry, swearing was one of them. Unfortunately that was one habit that Lex had kept from the street. "I'm sorry Professor Lang. I won't do it again," Lex apologized his head hung low.

"Yes you will Lex," the Professor retorted. "I've told you time and again to be a gentleman and yet it goes in one ear and out the other. You will now be seeing Lady Hirsche four times a week for decorum, until you learn how to behave."

"F-four times a week?"

"Yes. And don't you laugh Wallace," the Professor said, pointing his finger at his nephew, "you'll be joining him."

Wally's grin left his face. "But Uncle Lang I know how to behave! I always behave properly in front of guests. Please don't make me see Lady Hirsche four times a week," he begged.

"You have to learn how to be a gentleman at all times, not just when you're trying to finagle coins from your family, and praise from guests. Lady Hirsche has told me all about your behaviour in her classes, you both have much to learn," Professor Lang said sternly.

Wally hung his head and looking at the floor mumbled an almost incomprehensible "Yes sir."

"Good," the Professor said. "Lex I need to speak with you for a few moments, I have some news that I'm certain you'll enjoy after you have put some thought into it."

"Wait a minute," Wally said, "Its my birthday, but Lex gets good news, and I get extra lessons? That's hardly fair."

"Wallace you'll get more than enough presents tonight at your birthday supper. Don't be so greedy, it's important in a gentleman to allow other people the center stage occasionally. Now go tell  
Missus Martell what type of pudding you would like, she is about to start making it," the Professor said smiling again.

Wally ran his hand through his red hair in excitement. "Yes Uncle, right away," he said quickly.

Lex watched his friend run down the hall, the teenager looked scrawny, but he knew how to run. Lex could hold his own in arm wrestling, but whenever they raced Wally left him far behind. He noticed Professor Lang shaking his head in dismay, he guessed that the Professor despaired of ever teaching Wally how to behave properly.

Professor Lang turned back to the boy. "Lex you've done amazingly well in your studies, particularly in chemistry. But you are not very good at interacting with most people on a mature level. Unless they are scientists or young boys you behave as if they are your inferiors. This cannot be allowed to continue. Thus I have decided that you need an assistant."

"An assistant?"

"Yes, I have a fine young man who while not as smart as you is a capable student. He will help you with experiments, and also make sure you behave properly. You are his superior, if you ask him to assist you he will do whatever is required. But if you misbehave or treat him unkindly he has my permission to whip you," he said.

Lex looked at the Professor, the confusion apparent on his face.

"Lex you can just barely maintain your composure at a party, but that requires great effort on your part. This assistant will force you to maintain your composure on a regular basis. If he is cruel in his punishments I will know and admonish him or remove him, but I have faith that he will behave fairly and provide you great assistance." Professor Lang saw that Lex was not convinced.  
"Consider this a test. You're like me and enjoy a challenge, so this is a challenge for you. Learn to behave properly and you will go far. If you remain a street boy all your life you will not go very far, even with your brain."

Lex swallowed his first response, instead he said, "I will try sir."

"That's my boy," Lang said happily.

They walked down the hall to the professors study, the door was open. Lex heard Lana's voice coming from the room, and a male voice answering her. For a moment Lex felt a surge of annoyance that Lana was speaking to the unknown man, after a few seconds he forced that emotion down. As they entered Lana stood up and curtsied. In the past year had quickly grown taller, and was able to look Lex in the eye. Her dark brown hair was done up in a fetching blue bow that matched her dress.

"Good morning Father, good morning Lex," she said.

Lex smiled and nodded his head in reply.

"Ah good morning my dear. Have you been keeping our guest entertained?" Lang asked.

"Yes Father," the girl replied with a bright smile.

"Professor Lang, your daughter has been a fine hostess," the guest said, smiling and standing.

"Why thank kind sir," Lana said, trying to suppress a giggle.

Lex rolled his eyes in disgust. His new 'assistant' wasn't much to look at. A short young man, freckles, short red hair, wearing a cheap brown suit, and a plain cotton handkerchief with black smudges on it in his pocket. Why would the Professor give him an assistant that could punish him. That wasn't what an assistant was suppose to do.

"Mr. Olsen I would like you to meet Lex Luthor. Lex, this is Jim Olsen, a student of Professor Morrow."

Jim held out his hand, "I'm honoured to meet you Mr. Luthor. I have heard how brilliant you are and I am honoured to be given the chance to work with you."

Lex took the hand in his, maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all he thought. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance Mr. Olsen," he said, pleased with himself for remembering how to politely meet someone.

"Come this way Mr. Olsen, I'll show you the lab where you and Lex will be working," Professor Lang said.

Lex and Jimmy started to follow the Professor. The Professor and Lex both jumped in fright as their was a loud bang, a yell of pain, and the sound of broken glass. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I ran into the table," Jim said, cradling his leg with bits of a broken vase scattered around him.

Lex looked up at the Professor, uncertainty about the Professors plan plainly showed in his eyes.


End file.
